Meera woke before any of us realized she had stopped sleeping.
There was no gasp.
No sudden movement.
Just a quiet, broken sound in her throat.
I was already sitting beside her, my back against the wall, eyes half-closed, listening to the city's uneven breathing. When she spoke, I thought at first she was dreaming.
"I can see it."
I leaned forward. "Meera?"
Her eyes were open.
But they weren't focused on the room.
They were fixed on something just above the floor, as if a second world had layered itself over this one.
"I can see the spaces between things," she whispered. "They're not empty."
My stomach tightened. "What do you mean?"
She swallowed. Her fingers twitched against the stone. "It's like… when you look at writing on paper and suddenly notice the white instead of the ink. The white has shape. It has direction."
Devansh stepped closer. I felt him before I heard him.
"What do you see?" he asked her.
Meera's breathing quickened. "Places where the city hasn't decided yet. Thin parts. Soft parts. Doors that aren't doors."
Cold crept into my chest.
She pushed herself into a sitting position. Her gaze drifted slowly across the walls, the floor, the distant arches.
"There," she said suddenly.
She pointed.
At nothing.
"Ira," she whispered. "Something is standing there."
My heart kicked hard against my ribs.
I followed her finger with my eyes.
I saw stone. Shadow. Light.
I felt nothing.
"I don't feel anything," I said.
"I know," she replied. "That's why it's there."
The way she said it made my skin prickle.
Rehaan moved closer. "What does it look like?"
Meera hesitated. "Like a place where someone erased a person. The shape stayed. The meaning didn't."
Devansh's jaw tightened.
"Can it see you?" he asked.
She nodded.
My breath caught. "Meera, don't interact with it."
She didn't answer.
She was staring too hard.
Then her shoulders stiffened.
"It's… learning me," she said.
The words landed like a dropped glass.
I grabbed her hand. "Look at me. Meera, look at me."
She did.
And in her eyes, I saw something new.
Not fear.
Orientation.
"Ira," she said slowly. "It isn't here to watch the city."
My throat went dry.
"It's here," she finished, "to practice being something."
And somewhere deep in Vayukshi, the city shifted again.
Not in reaction.
In recognition.